


The Things He Learned

by Phyre



Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Domestic Fluff, Dysfunctional Family, Family, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Humor, Minor Canonical Character(s), Minor Original Character(s), Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-07
Updated: 2018-02-07
Packaged: 2019-03-15 00:11:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13601412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phyre/pseuds/Phyre
Summary: Bunnymund, throughout the years, and what he had to learn from his old family, as well as his new one.





	The Things He Learned

Aster had always thought of himself as a generous person, especially with his affections. From the very moment he was born into the world, he had so much of his heart to give, and, thank the stars, enough people to give to. His four older siblings and his parents, they’d never made him doubt himself, never made him question whether they deserved his unfettered love.

  
And then his mother went and got herself knocked up, 5 more times.

  
When he first laid eyes on the squabbling mess that everyone claimed was his new baby sister, he quite honestly thought there’d been a misunderstanding. Perhaps his mother picked up a swaddled, screaming mandrake by mistake, and his sister was actually still out there, peacefully sleeping, like how he thought a real baby should be doing. And throughout the first few days, he was adamant in this claim, hoping to at least get Shasta on his side, but his eldest brother was deceiving with his knowing gaze, and soon enough, at everyone’s insistence, Aster dropped the suggestion of putting her up for adoption.

  
On her part, Magnolia remained clueless of her brother’s scheming, which would have been a blessing, if it didn’t also mean she was oblivious to his annoyance. He never really ventured very close to her, not since his first attempt, where he’d tried to touch her cheek, and she’d started crying, stubbornly continuing to do so throughout the whole night. It was the first time Aster got no sleep throughout an entire night, and afterwards, he started seeing himself more or less as a war veteran, trying his best to evade the enemy assailant’s shrieks, shielding himself from the sudden loneliness of having the rest of his family’s attention directed towards someone else. They didn’t know the baby, she’d only just been born, but they all acted as though she was some princess, waiting at her beck and call (or, rather, at her _sobs and wails_ ). He didn’t trust this sudden intruder, who simply went and stole his family from him.

  
Ok, so maybe he was being a bit melodramatic.

  
It was just hard to suddenly share everything with someone else. It wasn’t like that with Shasta, or Iris, or Camellia or Redbud. They didn’t scream the way the baby did, didn’t keep him awake at night, and they didn’t keep their already tired mom and dad awake. Magnolia was just different. Aster wasn’t used to different.

  
To her credit, though, Magnolia was mighty cute, so he forgave her. In time.

  
And to be fair, Aster was happy Magnolia was his first contact with a baby. She taught him how to deal with baby-stuff. She practically held his hand while he graduated from babysitting academy. And then watched from the side-lines as he struggled to deal with his other small siblings, who were, if any of them ask, getting progressively _worse_.

  
Tulip ate paper. He _ate_ it. And the worst thing was nobody even believed it. Like, the number of times Aster got called out for lying about “his little brother eating his homework” was frankly insulting. You’d think that ingesting so much knowledge would make Tulip a bit more self-aware, but no. He insisted on making school harder for Aster, incessantly. And then came Pansy. Small, sweet, _violent_ Pansy. Pansy bit Aster. She really did. And she blamed him for stuff he didn’t even _do_. One time, she ate a full cake, right in front of everyone, and _still_ managed to convince their mom that Aster somehow put her up to it. To her credit, though, Pansy could also be incredibly entertaining, when she wanted to. She was a terrific dancer, that Pansy. And it was always funny to see almost all of Aster’s other siblings do their best to stay out of the little girl’s way. Especially Magnolia. Pansy couldn’t stand overly effeminate Maggie, and the way she did everything elegantly. She could probably trip and fall in a puddle of mud and she’d still look beautiful doing it. Pansy hated every bit of it, and she hated it even more when her older sister tried to shove that same femininity down her throat. Their arguments were truly something to behold. Like a huge fire, or something. You know it’s bad, but you just can’t look away. Fortunately, in order to diffuse the ticking time bomb that were the two sisters in the same room, their mother made Daffodil, who, from an objective point of view, was endearing in his passion for magic tricks. But Aster knew better, because he felt the consequences of organising said tricks first-hand. Every time Daffodil announced a new “show”, the family gathering obediently to witness his freshest attempt, Aster dreaded the disappearance of a beloved possession. First, he mourned the loss of his playing card set, remnants of which he just so happened to see in his little brother’s grubby hands. Then, it was his favourite quill, the colours of which were last seen in Daffodil’s first disappearing act. Aster sometimes kind of wished Daffodil would succeed in making himself disappear.

  
And finally, finally, came Snowdrop and Primrose. Identical twins, predictably unpredictable, surprising everyone with their stark differences. Where Snowdrop was quiet, isolated in her cute drawings and timid glances, Prim was outspoken and loud. If she wasn’t in the centre of attention, she cried and writhed until she became the centre of attention. She was insufferable. Especially when she managed to persuade Snowdrop into acting out that “creepy twin” shtick. Aster hated it. It never failed to freak him out.

  
In a family with so many siblings, he had no choice but to try his best to be special. So Aster chose to love them, all of them, as hard as he could, and as subtly as possible, despite the ease with which he could have leaned towards the opposite.

 

***

  
“It’s raining,” said Prim, her voice betraying wisdom well beyond her five years.

  
“It’s raining,” Pansy repeated, forcefully stomping in the nearest puddle.

  
Daffodil nodded in agreement.

  
“It is indeed raining,” he supplied.

  
Aster sighed, squeezing Snowdrop’s hand, while she looked up at him, a silent question lingering in her gaze.

  
“It is raining,” Aster admitted in defeat.

  
His smaller siblings all smiled, appeased, barely feeling the way the heavy fall of water permeated every layer of clothing their father insisted on covering them with. “It’s going to rain,” he warned, his ears rising dramatically to get his point across. They had all groaned, but did as they were told, to get their father to shut up, if nothing else… All of them, except for Daffodil, who shot out the door ahead of everyone else, escaping his father’s grasp, and who was also now shivering in his thin, bright white and thoroughly wet shirt.

  
Yep, thanks, Mother Nature, I’ll have a side of pneumonia with that cold.

  
Aster’s musing was suddenly and quite rudely interrupted by a loud splash, which prompted him to look back and notice Pansy just as the mud from the puddle she jumped in splattered her yellow coat up to her waist, which. _Fantastic_.

  
“You’re killing me, you know. You’re killing your own brother,” he called after her, but the little murderer stuck out her tongue and took another purposeful leap in an even deeper puddle.

  
“Good, a few more of these and maybe I’ll finally be rid of you!” she smirked cold-heartedly.

  
Honestly. The monsters he had to deal with.

  
Aster rolled his eyes so intensely that he almost knocked himself unconscious. Then he simply grabbed Daffodil’s paw and stormed onwards with a new-found spring in his step, and a determination that felt suspiciously akin to spite.

  
“Hurry up, Daffodil. How is Snowdrop walking faster than you? Jeez, it’s like I’m dragging a wooden table after me.”

  
“But-“

  
“No buts.”

  
Pansy and Prim giggled, struggling to keep up with Aster, Snowdrop and Daffodil. The older brother shot them a stern look.

  
“Listen, if you die, mom will kill me, and then I’ll follow you around in the afterlife and I’ll make sure to annoy you for the rest of eternity.”

  
They graced him with no reply, instead choosing to deliberately slow their gaits.

  
Aster was never one for pep talks.

  
He tried again:

  
“Also, Shasta said that if it rains while it’s cold out and you get wet, your tails and fingers will slowly freeze over and fall off.”

  
The five of them started walking noticeably faster after that.

  
Still, it didn’t take longer than four consecutive sneezes for Aster to realise that no matter how quick their pace, seven year old Daffodil would surely end up bedridden for a week at least, without a warm, proper outfit…

  
With that in mind, he stopped in his tracks, causing his younger siblings, who were now walking behind him in a neat line, to bump into him, one by one. Ignoring their grumbles and confused glances, Aster decisively started unbuttoning his coat.

  
“What are you doing, crazy?” inquired Pansy, annoyance edging her words.

  
Aster proceeded to ignore her, too, having finally taken his coat off, motioning for Daffodil to come closer.

  
“Wait… What?”

  
“What do you mean, what? Come here and put this coat on, darn it.”

  
“But… Don’t you have to hold that presentation?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“Oh.”

  
The girls looked at Aster with wide eyes, and then at Daffodil, expectantly.

  
“But you worked on it for two weeks.”

  
“Come here already, Daffodil.”

  
“It’s too big for me.”

  
Aster groaned, reaching the boy in two strides, and putting the thing over his small shoulders. It was too big for him. The bottom bulk of it flopped helplessly in the mud, and when they resumed their walking, this time at a much more reasonable pace, it trailed after Daffodil, like some kind of royal cape made of utter irony.

Aster didn’t want to think about how he was going to smell of nasty wet fur in front of his entire class, but now that he thought about how he was going to smell of nasty wet fur in front of his entire class, he was thinking about how he was going to smell of nasty wet fur in front of his entire class.

  
“I’m going to smell of nasty wet fur in front of my entire class,” he said miserably.

  
“You won’t look too good, either,” Pansy helpfully supplied.

  
Daffodil said nothing, instead pulling the coat tighter around himself, examining the way his feet balanced on the thin line between walking and slipping.

 

***

  
Have you ever been forced to walk up a mountain made out of stinky, two days old porridge, barefoot, while having to balance a two litre jug of pickle water on your head?

Neither had Aster, but if he had done it, he was sure he wouldn’t have felt just as bad as he was feeling now.

  
He opened the door to his home, ignoring the way his smaller sibling seemed to instantly quiet down at his sight, and unenthusiastically flopped down onto the living room couch. The fact that he would get a fatherly lecture for every puddle he left in his wake didn’t even occur to him as he sank deeper into self-pity.

He fu - hecked up. Hecked up.

  
_Not today, mom. Not today. Not even in my own mind._

  
He hecked up. The second he stepped foot in his class, fur dripping with rain water and bitterness, he knew he wouldn’t be able to hold his presentation. He saw that reflected in the twenty pairs of eyes that followed his movements, as he went to excuse himself for being late.

  
“Er… Aster, are you… Well?” his teacher had inquired, worry and suspicion peppering his words.

  
Aster grunted a response, pulling his drenched paper from his equally drenched bag.

  
_My life._

  
He sneezed.

  
“Aster… Perhaps you should see a doctor… Preemptively. Would you like that? I’m sure this rain is doing you no favours.”

  
Translation: You look nuttier than a fruitcake, maybe you should get that sorry mug checked out.

  
_My. Life._

  
And of course he refused. Of course he stubbornly decided to hold his presentation anyway, and of course his materials disintegrated in his hands, and of course his severe and positively disgraceful sneeze attack forced him to prematurely end his beloved project half-way, and _of course he blamed it on Daffodil._

  
His father’s criminally soft hand-sewn pillows muffled his groans of despair.

  
“Would you quit that? You’re scaring the kids.”

But Aster couldn’t hear Shasta, because he was very busy trying to smother himself to death.

  
He couldn’t ignore the big paw on his back, though. Especially when said paw turned into two paws that lifted him up off the couch by his shoulders.

  
Shasta’s nose was twitching distractingly as he examined his little brother’s face.

  
“Oh, you _are_ in a nasty shape. Pansy really wasn’t kidding.”

  
The instant Shasta stopped supporting his weight, Aster crashed into the expanse of brown fur on his chest, and continued to groan. He was slightly hoping his brother’s larger frame would just swallow him whole, but he remained stubbornly still.

  
“Aww. That bad?”

  
Aster nodded in his chest, then hugged him, because he was 12, and he was feeling hot tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. He sniffled, and became angry at himself when he had to choke back a sob.

  
“I’ve worked… For weeks… On this project. I’ve rehearsed it… So many times. I knew it by-by heart, Shasta!”

  
“And?”

  
“And… When I go-got there, they were all sta-staring at mee… Because I was soggy… A-And stinky, and grooooss.”

  
Aster was having an increasingly difficult time speaking, through hiccups and tears and the sudden, really intense need to sneeze.

  
“A-And it-it was all because… Because Daffodil can’t be responsible… So I have to be… Responsible. And it sucks! And-“

  
“You don’t have to be the responsible one, though.”

  
Aster looked up at Shasta with big, surprised eyes, rubbing the wet tears from his cheeks.

  
“B-but… Are you saying I shouldn’t have given him my coat?”

  
“No, I’m saying you didn’t have to give him your coat.”

  
“But he would have… Frozen…”

  
“Just like you have?”

  
“But he’s a kid.”

  
Shasta smiled, as Aster’s slow realisation transformed his expression from one of confusion to one of annoyance.

  
“I hate it when you’re like dad,” Aster growled.

“You mean right?”

  
Shasta’s little brother rolled his eyes, and that’s when his focus shifted towards the tiny forms of their younger siblings, all watching them with wide eyes, their silence coated in expectation. Daffodil’s ears were guiltily peeking out from behind the couch. Shasta smiled. Aster sighed.

  
“Daffodil,” Aster called out tiredly.

  
The small, creamy furred kit emerged slowly, warily, first glancing at Shasta for a reassurance, then advancing towards his two elders brothers. When he saw the way Daffodil wouldn’t meet his gaze, Aster’s attitude softened, and he put a paw on his shoulder, prompting him to look up.

  
“Hey. What happened today… It wasn’t your fault, alright?”

  
“And you’re not… Mad at me?”

  
“I’m not mad at you.”

  
And before Daffodil’s confidence could restore itself to the point where he could full heartedly smile, Aster surprised him by pulling him into a tight hug, and his feeble idea of a smile went and dissolved into a real fit of giggles. Aster hugged him even tighter.

  
“Agh, Aster, you’re crushing me!” Daffodil cried out with mirth.

  
“Good, then maybe I’ll finally be rid of you.”

  
Aster winked at Pansy, and the little girl smirked, and then yelped as Shasta dragged both his younger brothers in a soul squeezing embrace.

  
And upon hearing his other siblings’ delighted noises, as well as Daffodil’s muffled laughter, Aster acquiesced that a few broken ribs were a small price to pay for this kind of happiness.

 

***

  
The Warren, as full of life and as busy as it always is, tends to also be unnaturally silent. Not a bad kind of silence, at least not in Bunnymund’s opinion. He enjoyed the tranquillity, it helped him concentrate more intensely on his work: mainly painting and sketching, but also taking care of his personal garden, training for combat, hell, he even took pleasure in cleaning up the egg golems, from time to time. Anything to keep his mind going. Anything to keep the loneliness at bay.

  
If silence was what it took to be oblivious to his own feelings, then so be it.

  
But just as he reached that conclusion, he heard a loud splash.

  
Muttering a few colourful curses under his breath, Bunnymund settled his sketchbook in the space between his belt and his hips, carefully tightening the leather about himself before heading in the direction of the disturbing sound.

  
When he finally got there, he had to take a moment to admire the sight before him.  
One of his sentinels was writhing around in the dye river, struggling to get back up from its overturned position. Its mossy stone body was now covered in pastels, and Bunnymund admitted to himself that he would no longer take pleasure in cleaning up the egg golems.

Alongside the thing’s helpless sloshes, the sound of laughter filled the air.

  
Bunnymund scowled as he recognized the voice.

  
“Jack…” he growled, throwing the other guardian a look that that he could only hope translated as menacing, and not sleep deprivation.

  
The winter spirit grinned at Bunnymund from where he was carelessly floating, no doubt in order to get the best view possible of the disaster he was most likely responsible for.

  
“Sup, cottontail?”

  
The egg moved again, causing the river to overflow, dyeing Bunnymund’s toes an obnoxious pink.

  
Dang it. Dang it all to heck.

  
“You know damn well ‘sup’, snowflake! Now get down ‘ere, ‘fore I shove my foot up yer -“

  
“Aw, man. I was totally gonna get down and let you give me a whoopin’, but then you had to go and be mean.”

  
Jack gave an exaggerated pout, and Bunnymund rolled his eyes.

  
“Remember to keep it PG, there, ‘roo!” the mischievous youth called down, before bolting towards another curious sentinel egg, unfortunate enough to have wandered too close.

  
Without much thinking, Bunnymund snapped into action, aiming his boomerang at Jack’s staff, and smirking with satisfaction when said staff plopped uselessly in the river, its owner following suit. When the guardian disappeared beneath the thick pink surface, Bunnymund gave a victorious “Ha!” wishing he owned a camera as he waited for Jack to rise in his fresh Easter attire.

  
But the boy surprised him yet again.

  
Bunnymund waited a good half minute before beginning to worry, and then a mere 10 seconds more before leaping into the murky depths after his friend, careful to avoid the still struggling sentinel. When he emerged, carrying an unconscious Jack in his arms, the pooka’s mind was racing with different thoughts, all equally bad, all containing or otherwise gravitating around the word “tragedy”, and “dead guardian”.

  
Sure, he was being melodramatic. Again. Guardians can’t die, as far as Bunnymund knows, and Sandy was a testament to that.

Still, he wasn’t one to try and test that theory.

Frantically pushing on Jack’s chest, he could feel all those years of solitude finally weigh in, channeling into a strong ache between his eyes. He couldn’t lose Jack. He was finally getting used to not being alone.

  
He didn’t want to be alone anymore.

  
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the young spirit snapped his big blue eyes open, gasping and throwing up the rest of the blasted dye, right in front of Bunnymund’s face, but the pooka couldn’t bring himself to mind, not when he was awash in relief.

  
“Strewth, kid, you scared my tail off!”

  
Jack could only stare in response, still gasping and coughing. Bunnymund frowned, leaning over his friend, putting a big paw on his now pink hair.

  
“Hey, what’s wrong? Why’d ya up an’ decide to swallow half my river, eh?”

  
Now it was becoming blatantly obvious that Jack’s irregular breathing had less to do with actual dye in his lungs, and more to do with him being terrified.

  
_Bugger_.

  
He was having a panic attack.

  
As Bunnymund’s emerald eyes glimmered with realisation, he pulled Jack into a tight hug, resting his furry cheek on the top of his head, murmuring soft, comforting things until he could feel him regulate his breathing. He wouldn’t break the embrace, though, not until he would he pushed away, no matter how unused he was to physical contact.

  
“I don’t know how to swim,” he heard Jack whisper, words muffled by the expanse of grey fur.

  
Bunnymund inhaled sharply, cursing himself for being irresponsible.

  
“You coulda’ told me. I almost -“

  
“Wasn’t your fault,” Jack simply answered, pulling away from the big pooka.

  
That’s when Bunnymund became painfully aware of his sketchbook. His soggy, useless sketchbook. He picked it from under his belt, watching expressionlessly as it came apart in his paws. Jack’s look was betraying his guilt, and the young spirit lunged after the falling pieces of wet paper, as if there was any chance he could put them back together.

  
“Oh my god, Bunny, I’m so sorry, this –“

  
“Ain’t your fault, either,” Bunnymund answered simply, and chucked the moist clump away, watching wistfully as more sentinels gathered to try and push the overturned egg into a vertical position. If the circumstances were any different, he might have felt a slight swell of pride in his chest at how efficient they were.

  
“Why would you… I mean, I know I’m great and all, but…”

  
And there was the old Jack. The one Bunny was used to. He didn’t know whether to groan or be thankful.

  
“It’s what friends do, Frostbite.”

  
_It’s what brothers do_ , he meant to say, but he bit the thought back when he felt Jack’s thin arm snake around his shoulders so he could lean his head against their fur.

  
Friends, brothers. It didn’t really matter.

  
This was good enough.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hey! thanks so much for checkin out my story! if youve got any feedback make sure to leave a comment down below, it really helps me out a lot. also, if you have any suggestions, or if there’s anything else you wanna see in this fic, i’m all ears!! ✨✨


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